For a certain generation, usually those raised on the cartoony early-90s WWF who rediscovered wrestling later in the decade, staying up until 2 a.m. to watch ECW on public access was a ritual of entering manhood. More often than not, those late-night broadcasts came from the ECW arena, a tiny, dingy, wonderful little place in a deserted industrial neighborhood of South Philadelphia. A warehouse converted into a Mummer's meeting hall (yes, there was occasionally Bingo), the ECW Arena was magical in its ordinariness. This past Saturday, the venerable shithole hosted what was probably its last wrestling card, a small independent promotion that ended the night with a Sabu and Justin Credible scarring each other with screwdrivers.